by Bobbi Smith
He knew the answer his father wanted to hear, but thoughts of Trista prevented him from responding too quickly. Trista was his wife by his own standards, yet she refused to admit it. He realized that the day of her marriage to Michael was fast approaching and that he had to do something quickly or risk losing her.
It suddenly occurred to him that he didn't want to lose her, and the realization came to him as a bit of a shock. All along he had led himself to believe that he had desired her only because she was Michael's, but now he knew that was no longer true. In the beginning that had been his motivation in taking her, but somehow during their time together, she had come to own his heart.
Lance loved Trista. He would not be able to stand idly by and watch her marry his brother. His dilemma was very real, and Trista was the only one who could solve it. Somehow he had to win her away from Michael, but if for some reason he failed . . . would he be able to remain on the ranch with her married to Michael?
A fierce surge of the Comanche in him taunted him to kidnap Trista again and run off with her. She was his wife . . . She should be with him. Yet he now realized that Trista's happiness had somehow become important to him, too. That recognition confused him even more. Not only had George been a civilizing influence on him, but his love for Trista had been, too.
Knowing that his father was waiting expectantly for his answer, he replied somewhat evasively, "I will stay . . . for now."
George wanted to press him for a firmer commitment, but said nothing. He sensed that Trista was somehow the key to the entire situation, for she was certainly the reason Lance was here. After their first confrontation that night in his study, George had deliberately avoided the issue, trying to act as if the lie they'd made up was the truth. He feared that there might be a showdown between his sons if Lance truly believed she was his wife. It was something he wanted to avoid at all costs.
"I'm glad," he told him solemnly.
"Trista, darling," Eleanor said in a slightly condescending tone later that afternoon as they sat in the parlor, "we really should start making the final preparations for the wedding as soon as the party for Lance is over. I expect your father to arrive sometime early next week, and as soon as he's settled in, the ceremony can take place."
Trista found herself hesitant to agree to rush things along. She was far too confused over her chaotic feelings for Lance to begin planning her wedding to Michael. When she'd first returned, she had thought a quick marriage to Michael would solve all her problems, but now she wasn't so sure. "I want to wait until my father gets here before I make any definite changes in the plans."
"But, Trista," Eleanor argued, "this is what Michael wants. . . ."
"I don't care what Michael wants!" Trista snapped uncharacteristically, and her future mother-in-law stared at her aghast.
"I don't understand," she responded icily. "It was decided to move up the wedding date to protect your reputation."
"It is my wedding, and I think I should be the one to say when it will take place." Trista stood and started from the room. "If you'll excuse me . . . "
In a huff, she mounted the stairs, seeking desperately to escape any thoughts of her imminent wedding to Michael. As she charged down the hall, her head down in concentration, she wondered why she felt such a growing reluctance to go through with the ceremony. A vision of a tall, black-haired man with vivid blue eyes came to her then, and though she wanted to deny it, she couldn't. It was Lance who had her so confused and so filled with guilt and . . .
Trista ran directly into the solid wall that was Lance's chest. She gasped in surprise and outrage as his arms closed around her, and she glared up at him to find him smiling mockingly down at her.
"Let go of me, you big lout!" she snapped, trying to push free.
"Why, Trista," Lance taunted, "that's not what you were saying the other night."
"You . . .!" Trista was seething. It had been bad enough having words with Eleanor, but to physically run into Lance upstairs when there was no one around left her nervous and unsure. He was so bold with her . . . so brazen . . . she never knew what he might do next.
"Easy, love," he coaxed, rubbing her shoulder with a gentle hand. "You're far too tense. . . ."
"I'm tense because you won't let me go!"
"Of course I'm not going to let you go. You're my wife, Trista. We're going to be together."
"Oh, no we're not!" she choked. "I've already told you that I'm going to marry Michael."
Lance laughed with seeming delight at her continued defiance, leaving her completely baffled.
"Are you so sure that your first baby won't be mine?" he taunted.
"I won't have your bastards, Lance Barrett!"
His grip on her suddenly tightened as he scowled blackly. "Any baby of mine you carry won't be a bastard, Trista. We are married."
His mouth swooped down to take hers with passionate precision in a flaming, demanding kiss. He demanded and got an answering response from her. This time Trista did not even bother to deny the hot flush of excitement that thundered through her. She knew there was no point in fighting it, for Lance would only overpower her with his sensuality again and prove to her the futility of her resistance. She wanted him . . . damn him! Despite everything he'd done to her, she still wanted him desperately!
When she looped her arms tightly about his neck, he responded instantly by crushing her to him. Her breasts tautened at the hard, sensual contact with his firm chest, and the hard peaks pressed invitingly through her clothing to tease Lance to even greater heights of mindlessness. Trista found herself moving restlessly against the strength of his hips as if encouraging him to give her the pleasure she knew could be hers in his most potent embrace.
Lance groaned low in his throat at her subtle urging. He traced his hands lower to cup her hips and draw her fully against the heat of his arousal. Trista gasped in delight at the feeling of his need pressed so erotically to her. She tangled her fingers in his hair and kissed him passionately, letting him know with her lips and tongue just what it was she wanted.
Trista was almost mindless with the ecstasy that was throbbing through her, but the sound of someone mounting the staircase came distantly to her. With the sound came a vague awareness of where she was and who she was with. Taking Lance completely by surprise, she broke off the embrace and moved quickly away, flattening herself against the wall just as Michael appeared at the top of the stairs.
Michael's gaze swept quickly from Trista's flushed look to Lance's stony expression. "Trista," he ventured, looking at Lance accusingly, "are you all right?"
Trista forced a bright smile on her face as she slashed Lance a vicious look and then turned toward Michael. "I'm fine, Michael."
"I was just coming up to see you. Mother said you had some concerns about the wedding. . . ." Michael didn't realize it, but his words shored up Lance's fading hopes.
Trista knew Lance would pick up on his remark, and she quickly denied it. "Just prewedding jitters, that's all. . . ."
"Oh . . . " Again he glanced at Lance questioningly.
"I really came upstairs because I needed to rest. I'll see you later. . . ." Turning her back on the both of them, she hurried down the hall and disappeared into her room.
Both men watched her go. When they were certain she was safely out of earshot, they regarded each other in silent assessment.
"I want you to stay away from Trista," Michael told him in a lethal tone of voice.
"No one tells me when I can speak to my wife, Michael," Lance returned arrogantly.
"I've had about all I can stand of you. . . ."
When Lance gave him a mocking, smug look, Michael lost control. Diving at Lance in the narrowness of the hallway, he knocked the other man off his feet. They rolled wildly about, landing blow after punishing blow on each other, as they fought for superiority . . . and the right to Trista.
Trista heard the commotion at the same time that George did in his study below. Charging from her room, she stood
in stunned disbelief watching the two pummel each other.
"Stop! Stop it, both of you!" She was outraged by their behavior.
George rushed from his study and took the steps two at a time. He reached the top to find his sons in violent combat.
"Michael! Lance! What the hell is going on here? You should be ashamed of yourselves!"
It took all of George's considerable strength to haul Lance off of Michael. Wiping blood from the corner of his mouth, Michael got quickly to his feet and stood glaring at his disheveled brother.
"Nuthin'," Michael answered sullenly, regretting that he hadn't been able to land a more vicious punch to Lance.
"Lance?" George turned to his other offspring.
"Nothing," Lance replied, too, knowing that this was private business between Michael and him.
Without another word, not caring that Trista was there, Michael stalked away and disappeared downstairs. George gave Lance a strained look before he followed after his younger son. Alone in the hallway, Lance faced Trista.
"It seems he doesn't like the thought of our marriage, love," he sneered. "I think you'd better convince him of the fact, because I'm never going to let you go." Then he, too, headed downstairs and out of the house.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sukie knew she shouldn't be out riding alone after what had happened to Trista, but at this point, she didn't care. She'd needed to get away from the house and prepare herself for seeing Michael again the following night at the Barrett party. She realized it wasn't going to be easy to face him, knowing that there was absolutely no hope that she would ever become his wife. She wanted to take the time to gird her tender emotions against the battering they were going to suffer in the final realization that he'd chosen another over her.
Reining in by the small, clear-flowing stream, she dismounted and led her horse to drink. She often came here to think in this quiet, shady spot between the boundary of the Barrett spread and her own. As a child she had frequently played here, and sometimes Michael had joined her. The fact that he had intruded on her thoughts annoyed her, but as deeply as he was imbedded in her heart, she knew he couldn't be exorcized in just one day. It would be a long, painful process, but she had to do it if she was to get on with her life.
The sparkling waters were restful to watch as they rushed by, and her spirit needed soothing today. The sun had been hot on her ride to the creek, and after tying up her mount, she sought out the cooling shade beneath an oak. There was little relief to be found beneath the spreading limbs as sweat trickled miserably down her neck and between her breasts. Wearily, she unbuttoned several of the buttons of her blouse to try to cool off. The idea came with sudden, devilish delight, and she eyed the splashing water for only an instant before divesting herself of her boots and socks. Hiking up her riding skirt, Sukie waded joyfully out into the surprisingly icy brook. Forgetting for a moment the sadness in her life that had brought her here, she splashed playfully in the calf-deep stream with the exuberance of a child, completely unaware of the man who sat his horse a short distance away watching her.
Michael had needed to get away from the ranch for awhile to sort out all that was going on in his life. He was angry, but he wasn't sure with whom. Certainly some of it was directed at Lance, who seemed to be the root of all his trouble, but then again, he had been less than completely comfortable with Trista since her return. Her erratic behavior toward him left him slightly bewildered. When they had first rescued her, she had been passionate and willing, but lately he'd sensed a reluctance in her that he couldn't understand. The scene in the hall had heightened his suspicions that the hatred she claimed to have for Lance was actually something else, but he didn't even want to consider that. He loved her, and he wanted her for his wife. . . .
He had headed toward the stream instinctively, as if drawn there by some unseen force. It had been one of his favorite places to play when he was a child, and just now he needed a place that was undemanding and quiet.
As he'd topped the low rise, he'd been caught completely by surprise to see Sukie wading in the water. They had often played there as innocents. She had been his close friend and confidante. He enjoyed the sight of her obvious pleasure in her actions, and he remembered many times when they'd cavorted in just the same way together. It occurred to him after several moments that he shouldn't sit and watch her so secretively, so he urged his mount down the slight embankment to join her.
"Sukie . . . " he called out, wanting to alert her to his presence.
Sukie almost thought she was dreaming as she looked up to see Michael riding toward her. She blinked in confusion. Could it really be him sitting so tall and darkly handsome on the mount? Her eyes widened as she stared at him hungrily. He had to be a fantasy; life couldn't possibly be so cruel as to bring him to her now . . . just as she was trying to forget him. Sukie closed her eyes, hoping he'd disappear. However, when he didn't, there was no stopping her bright, warm, welcoming smile.
"Michael! Hi!" She fought not to reveal her joy at seeing him. "What are you doing—" She had meant to make an innocent attempt at chitchat, but stopped short when she noticed his swelling lip. "What happened to you?"
Self-consciously, Michael touched his lip. His smile was wry as he hurriedly tried to manufacture a good line. "Just a little friendly misunderstanding with someone who packs a good left." He dismounted easily and tied his horse near hers.
As he walked down the bank to stand before her, Sukie tried not to look at the way his pants hugged his muscular thighs or the way his shirt was partially unbuttoned, revealing a hint of the furred chest beneath. "Listen, I'm really glad that everything worked out so well for you and Trista. My mother told me all about it. I'm happy for you." Sukie hoped she sounded sincere.
A strange look clouded his handsome features as he responded, "Thanks . . . "
Sukie wondered at the change in his expression. "I'm sure you're going to be very happy. . . ."
"Yes, I'm sure we will be." Michael's answer seemed almost terse, puzzling her even more. "How come you're out here all alone?" He quickly changed the topic, not wanting to discuss Trista right then.
"I know I shouldn't be, after what happened to Trista and all, but I just had to get away from the house for awhile. What about you? I didn't know you still came here."
"I guess I was feeling the same way," he replied honestly enough as he sat down on the bank. "I've always liked it here. It's so calm . . . so peaceful . . . "
Sukie was trying not to let her love for him show, but the sight of him sitting so casually with her, talking to her as they used to talk, demolished all the progress she had made in barring him from her affections. She did love him . . . she did! And she would probably go on loving him until the day she died! Her green-eyed gaze memorized every beloved line of his lean frame and every expression that flitted across his face. Michael Barrett was the only man for her; she knew it.
Then she realized she had a choice. She could let this moment pass as a friendly visit, or she could take destiny into her own hands and grab a bit of happiness for herself before it was too late. She wanted him. She always had. Almost immediately she made the decision to try to seduce him. Sukie knew she was risking everything, for if he refused her, she would be completely, totally devastated. Still, she knew she had to try.
Sukie understood that he loved Trista. She realized that he was going to marry Trista, but she believed she wouldn't be hurting anyone since they weren't married yet. If they made love today, she would at least have that memory to last her the rest of her life.
The thought of her own future didn't bother her at all, for there was no other man she wanted to marry. She would have Michael just this once, and she would live with the remembrance of having had his love for that short time.
Deliberately, she bent forward in a pretended effort to pick something up from the creek bed, offering Michael an unobstructed view of her bosom where she'd unbuttoned the buttons for relief from the heat. There was a diffe
rent heat building within her now . . . a heat that could only be relieved by Michael.
"Michael . . . look!" As she'd hoped, when she glanced up, his dark eyes were riveted on her cleavage.
Michael felt a sudden shock of desire surge through him as he accidentally found himself staring at the sweetness of her partially bared breasts. A slight breeze stirred just then, and the scent of her perfume came to him, enveloping him in a warm flush of unbidden need. Sunshine was burning her hair to a molten red-gold, and she looked wild and slightly pagan as she stood poised artfully before him.
With an effort Michael fought to bring his sudden, unexpected desire for her under control. Bewilderment filled him. This was Sukie. . . . How was it that just now he was discovering how truly lovely she was?
"Sukie . . . what is it?"
Deciding to be brazen, she told him the truth. "Nothing really."
"What?" Michael was puzzled and still unable to look away from the pale-hued flesh that threatened to spill enticingly from her blouse. He was torn between being a gentleman or lewdly ogling those tempting orbs. He knew a driving need to see the pert darker tips that even now pressed tautly against the soft white fabric of her shirt.
"I really didn't want anything, Michael." Her tone was sultry.
His gentlemanly instincts finally won out after a desperate encounter with his baser yearnings. "Uh, Sukie . . . you really ought to button your blouse." Now Michael was trying to look everywhere but at her.
A slow smile curved her lips as her tongue darted out to wet them. "Why, Michael? Don't you like what you see?" she asked huskily as she moved toward him.
"Sukie!" Michael was startled.
"Yes, Michael?"
"When did you become so . . . so . . . " He groped for words as his gaze fastened on her sensuous display again.
"So bold? So brazen?" she supplied teasingly with a slight smile. "So in love with you?"
"In love with me?" he gulped, totally bemused.
Michael was unable to take his eyes off of her as she moved up the bank toward him with the stalking sinuousness of a female jungle cat. With lithe grace her delicate fingers worked slowly to unbutton her blouse the rest of the way. He found himself holding his breath as he watched the sides of the blouse drop down and away, but still the glorious fullness was elusively hidden from his avid gaze.